


A Lesson In Hope

by seductivembrace



Series: In Hand [5]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seductivembrace/pseuds/seductivembrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hope that keeps Xander going, even through the pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson In Hope

It feels good, Giles’ arms wrapped around you, enveloping you, even if you do hold yourself stiffly in his embrace. You want so much to cave, to just give in and let him take charge, let him whisk you back to his apartment like he wants to do. 

But then something he says, well, more like the _way_ he says it, makes you pause.

He’s treating you like a child, someone in need of protection.

You hate to break it to Giles, but you haven’t been a kid in a long time… and you _damn_ sure haven’t been one since Buffy came into your life. Nothing like near death experiences to have the rose-colored glasses of youth ripped away.

Never mind that you’ve been on your own for the last month and doing just fine, thank you very much. You’ve got a job, a roof over your head, and more food on a daily basis than you would normally consume in a week at the Harris homestead. And, thanks to Mrs. O. you’re still attending school. Sorta.

From where you garner the strength, you have no idea, but you manage to get your arms up between you and push against Giles’ chest. It takes a second, but then he lets you go, allowing you to take a step back and put some space between you. The one-sided conversation dies abruptly; Giles goes from looking miserable to looking confused.

“Xander—”

“No,” you say and take another step back. Force yourself to stand on your own two feet, shoulders back. You’re a man. Not a boy.

The same man that Giles almost had sex with in the library, demon possession notwithstanding. 

But then there was that kiss in the hospital. That had been all Giles.

Damn him for acting like that hadn’t happened. 

Guess you’re not the only one swimming in that river in Africa. And, look, Giles is doing a wonderful impression of a guppy. If your heart didn’t hurt as bad as it did in that moment, you’d probably laugh. Instead, lips flat, you announce in no uncertain terms that you’ve got things to do, and turn to leave.

Ignore Giles as he calls out for you to wait; your mind is in a whirl as you try to figure out the logistics of finding a new place to live – because there’s no way you can stay there now with Giles knowing where you are. Buffy and Willow will be on your doorstep before you can say apocalypse. 

It sucks too, because you are just beginning to call the place home.

Maybe Mrs. O. might have an idea.

Thankfully Giles doesn’t follow you into the rental office, and moments later you hear his car start up and putter off. And that hurts. God it hurts.

Because he wasn’t supposed to leave. But, then, he wasn’t supposed to treat you like little orphan Annie either. Dammit!

You swipe away a lone tear and wonder how much time you have before reinforcements arrive. Then you square your shoulders. You’ll survive this, just like you have everything else that life has thrown at you.

“Mrs. O!” you shout as you dash behind the desk and make your way into her private quarters.

~*~*~*~*~

The Charlie Brown Christmas tree – complete with small multi-colored balls, gold garland, and silver tinsel hanging off its threadbare limbs – is the only decoration in the sparse motel room that indicates how close it is to the holiday. Beneath it are two presents wrapped in the Sunday comics, though only one will actually be given away. 

You’re not quite sure why you’ve bought Giles a Christmas present. It isn’t like you’ve seen the man in the last three weeks. Hell, you told him to get lost and then made sure he can’t find you when – _if_ – he returns by moving to another dirt-cheap motel owned by a friend of Mrs. O. 

But, you’d taken one look at the silver pocket watch and thought of him. _Giles_. 

There’s still some small part of you that lives in hope. That believes in the Christmas miracle. You’re not ashamed to admit you’ve thought of writing a letter to Santa. Something along the lines of… __

_Dear Santa,_

_All I want for Christmas is Giles. I’ve been a good boy. Promise._

_Thank you,_

_Xander_

Shaking the rain-drenched hair out of your eyes, you drop the key on the dresser along with your groceries – two bags full of what will be Christmas dinner and food for the week. You’re able to buy in quantity now, given the small refrigerator and mini stove, all part of the small kitchenette of your new digs. 

It’s a step up from your last place. Slightly bigger too. And you owe it all to Mrs. O. 

Speaking of, you need to hurry and put the groceries away or you’re going to be late for “class”. You blame it on the rain and wonder if the storm is Hellmouth related before firmly squashing those thoughts. You’re out of the demon-hunting business. Out of the watcher business too.

And there it is again. That subtle reminder of Giles. Here you thought you’d make it a whole day without thinking of him. No such luck.

Sighing, you make quick work of storing the groceries, grab your key, stuff Mrs. O.’s present under your coat so it doesn’t get wet, and hurry out of your room. 

It’s a long, cold walk from your new home to your old. Thankfully, the unusually wet weather means the roads are deserted. No chance of you being spotted by old friends or demons thinking to take advantage of the hidden sun.

Still, you don’t take any chances and dawdle on the streets. The stake and holy water – buried deep in the pockets of your coat – slap comfortingly against your thighs as you walk. It always pays to be cautious. 

~*~*~*~*~

The trip back home is just as wet. The present from Mrs. O. – a book of some sort, given the way it’s wrapped – is kept safe in your pocket, the one the stake had been in. But, that’s in your hand now, thanks to the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. 

Again that sense of being watched tickles down your spine.

As you let yourself into your room, one foot barely over the threshold, you freeze at seeing who is sitting almost nervously on the end of your bed.

Who knew that Giles possessed breaking and entering skills? You obviously didn’t. They had to have been a part of the Sherlock Holmes detective skills he learned at the Watcher’s Academy. 

You must have stood there, ogling him for some time, because Giles is now… _blushing_? Unflappable Giles? Go figure.

Finally, you blink and calmly shut the door, like it’s nothing that Giles is invading your space and making himself at home.

You shrug out of your coat and nod his way. Acknowledge him with a “Rupert”. You want to laugh at the expression on his face – a mixture of distaste, exasperation, amusement… and respect.

He gets you back with an “Alexander” in his stodgy Watcher’s voice. You chuckle, because it’s just so _Giles_. The ice breaks, and he smiles. You smile back. 

Hell, you’re just happy it wasn’t “Lavelle”.

~*~*~*~*~

By some unspoken agreement you both move to the table and chairs fronting the kitchenette. It’s safer. Giles on your bed, even a clothed Giles, is a dangerous thing.

And from the looks of things, Giles wants to talk.

Except he doesn’t… at least not yet.

Somehow, some way, you’re in his arms and then his hands are cupping your face and he’s kissing you. Urgent and needy, and you just give yourself up to the sensation. You’ve waited so long, and you’re not about to deny yourself.

You think maybe there is a Santa Claus.

Because Giles is there. His lips are on yours. His tongue… just… _gah_. All you can do is hang on, open your mouth, and feel.

 _Man_ , do you feel.

Giles is very good at the kissing thing. Boy, howdy, is he!

You want it to go on forever, and apparently he’s of the same mind because he keeps coming back for more. And you let him. Encourage him with clutching hands and little moans. You move closer, needing to feel him, feel his need.

The second you brush against him, the kiss ends. His forehead rests against yours. He whispers your name and the air brushes across your wet lips, sending shivers down your spine. 

“Giles…”

That’s all you get out before he claims your mouth again. Only this time the urgency is gone. Sated with that initial kiss.

His gentleness brings tears to your eyes. You feel… wanted. Maybe loved, even if only just a little.

But, like all things, this, too, has to end. You feel Giles pull back and away. Feel his gaze settle on your face and notice your tears.

 _Damn_.

“Oh, Xander…”

“Don’t say it,” you plead, unable to look at him. “Please don’t say you’re sorry.”

He doesn’t say it, but then, he doesn’t _not_ say it either. It leaves you wondering why he’s here. Why bother kissing you if he thinks it’s wrong? Or leaves him feeling, god forbid, _guilty_.

He does hug you though. Finally steps back and pulls you towards the bed. He pushes you down and then settles behind you. Holding you close. His front pressed against your back.

There’s no mistaking his erection, but he does nothing about it.

The silence is overwhelming… but comforting for all that. You debate asking him why he’s here for all of five seconds, then mentally shrug. Maybe it’s better that you don’t say anything.

You’re soon lulled by the rain, drift off to sleep, Giles a solid presence behind you.

~*~*~*~*~

When you wake up, Giles is gone. It’s no surprise though. Doesn’t mean it hurts any less. As Christmas Eves go, it isn’t the worst you’ve suffered… but it’s close. Damn close.

You refuse to dwell on it, however, as you climb out of bed and head to the bathroom. You’re working the lunch shift today since the restaurant where you work is closing early for the holiday, and you need to get ready.

It’s not until you’re almost at the door that you see it. You stop. Blink. Blink again.

But, it’s still there. 

Right next to your gift for Giles.

The present is wrapped much better than the one from you to him, complete with shiny bow on top. Like one of those found in a display window at the mall. 

You stare at it dumbfounded. 

Giles got you a Christmas present.

It matters not that he left you in the bright light of day.

You recognize the gift for what it is… a start. 


End file.
